


Only Clockwork (Six Months, Ten Days)

by bluestalking



Series: Grimmglass [1]
Category: Doctrine of Labyrinths - Sarah Monette
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-30
Updated: 2011-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-22 00:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestalking/pseuds/bluestalking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I said tiredly, “I told Kay I slept with his brother-in-law in Bernatha. And that Gerrard Hume was a bigot.”</i> (Spoilers for <i>Corambis</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Clockwork (Six Months, Ten Days)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to oliviacirce for very useful beta!

  
_Felix_   


Kay came in quietly, but I saw the door swing open, and the outline of his legs at the top edge of my vision. I looked up from my book as he shut the door.

“Good afternoon,” I greeted him.

“And you. Am I late?” he asked, finding his way to a chair.

“Only a few minutes,” I said. “I don’t mind.” I didn’t, either. I had been waiting in what was by far my favorite room in the main house. The manor was a conflagration of half-destroyed buildings, each built into the standing walls of its predecessors. A large portion of the current building had been constructed some two hundred years ago, in the mode of the day--a blockish, unaccommodating style that I didn’t care for. The furnishings, as far as I could tell, dated from around the same time. It was stuffy, slightly over-simple, and not so much traditional as old-fashioned. I privately hoped Kay would at some point _ask_ whether the décor was atrocious; but of course, it didn’t trouble him, and I didn’t think he would have cared any more if he could see it. If someone had pointed out that it might put off guests, he probably would have seen that as a reason to keep things as they were.

This room was the consolation, a (largely disused) pocket of Vanessa’s rather better taste, neatly situated and comfortably appointed in the southeast corner of the house. It boasted modern furnishings and more generous decoration, and positioned as it was, it was both warmer and brighter than the rest of the building. The room offered an immediate ease that was for the most part lacking beyond the lighthouse.

“Hm,” said Kay. He took his seat, and then said, “I apologize anyway. Was being read a telegram by my ever-useful secretary.”

I wasn’t aware that Julian had given Kay reason to be annoyed with him. Kay was normally patient with him, far more so than he was with anyone else but Richard. I asked, “What was in it?”

“ _Hm_ ,” said Kay, more forcefully than before and less thoughtfully. “Murtagh plans to give us the honor of his company. Tomorrow or the day after.” He looked so disgusted that I laughed.

“I thought you liked Murtagh,” I said, sticking a finger between the pages of my book to hold my place.

Kay scowled and jerked his head.

“Anyway, he likes _you_ ,” I finished.

“Is no difference to the disruption he makes,” Kay retorted.

“You,” I observed, “sound like an old fishwife.” The expression had meant nothing to me until I came to Grimglass, but I found now that it held occasionally true.

Kay frowned, and growled, in a way I knew meant I had embarrassed him, “Am not trying to suggest I—dislike him. Am simply happier with Murtagh not knowing, or getting _close enough to know_ , either that I’m violet _or_ that I sleep with someone other than my wife.”

I snorted and, without intending to, answered, “I assure you, he’s in no position to judge you on either count.”

I realized my mistake when Kay stilled. A familiar reckless thrill chased itself through my spine into a chilly, equally familiar, knot of dread.

“Why sayst that, Felix?” Kay asked flatly.

I rallied. “You say yourself there’s hardly any love lost between Murtagh and your sister. And,” I finished archly, “I haven’t seen firsthand anything to indicate that he’s a bigot.” At least, not where aetherials weren’t concerned.

Kay crossed his arms and sat facing me in stony silence. I blushed, barely comforted knowing that he couldn’t see it.

“An thou think I’ll swallow _that_ answer,” he said finally, “I’ll know thou think me stupid after all.” I winced. We had argued on those lines before, viciously. I had argued too hard at the time to gracefully navigate a recurrence now.

And there was the not inconsequential reminder, whenever Kay said such things, of how often I had caused Mildmay to feel the same way.

“Oh, please, darling,” I said nervously. “I’m not dallying on the side, if that’s what you mean. You can stop baring your teeth at me like some bulldog in the ring.” My throat felt tight, and I bit down on my tongue as soon as the words had left my mouth. I was different. _This_ was different. I wasn’t going to do to Kay what I’d done to—everyone before him.

Kay remained impassive. He locked his jaws like granite, his arms crossed and his feet planted. He was still a muscular man, even after nearly a year since blindness and imprisonment had permanently hampered his exercise. I knew his strength. He could have killed me easily, I thought, even now. He had killed before, hundreds of men. I should be grateful he wanted to touch me, that he could, was willing to, hurt me with restraint.

Grateful, except _I hadn’t done anything wrong_.

“If you don’t believe me it’s your trouble, isn’t it?” I snapped.

“Have been called a dog before,” Kay said, ignoring my outburst. “But it was—intended as offense. Art guarding thyself, Felix. An it isn’t so bad, why art lying?”

I lost a retort halfway out of my mouth. He was right.

He was right.

I shoved down all of my instinctual panic.

“You’re right,” I said finally. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you remember when we met in Bernatha—?”

“Aye,” Kay said dryly. “Have some recollection.” No doubt he was recalling cold marble floors and aching wrists, the all too solid ghost of Gerrard Hume haunting at his back.

“I was—working as a prostitute,” I said. “As a shadow. The pay is better, you know, and I’d done it for money in the past, and Mildmay was sick, so I thought I could—I needed—”

“Felix, I do know something of thy tastes,” Kay said, more ironically. “And, hast mentioned the machinations of that damned fool Edwin Beckett. Get on.”

“Ah,” I said. I was blushing, but worse than that, I was shaking a little. I hadn’t wanted to bring any of this up, almost more than I didn’t want to risk Kay’s anger by telling him about Murtagh. Almost more, I realized, than I wanted to avoid betraying Murtagh’s trust. But it was too late now to hold to that small act of honor.

“Felix?”

“The Duke of Murtagh,” I blurted, “He was—was my only other specialty—fish.”

“Fish?” Kay asked blankly.

“Customer.”

Kay’s jaw dropped.

“Thou and he—” he started, sounding bewildered.

“Yes, on one occasion,” I answered, looking at my hands so I couldn’t see his face. I managed to keep my voice from shaking.

Kay was silent. At last he said thoughtfully, “I know not why I should be troubled to think of thee sleeping with him, when I know how many worse men have had thee.”

It took me a moment to recall my voice.

“I don’t know, darling,” I said, quiet and sharp, my face burning. “Since you didn’t know me at the time, and couldn’t have paid your way off of a coffin if you had, I have to say I find it hard to imagine what you think I should have done instead.”

“Am sure there’s some other work in Bernatha beyond selling thyself as recreation,” Kay shot back like a whip. “Perhaps thought thou could bury thy dead lover faster that way?”

“ _Don’t_ —talk about Gideon like that,” I choked, and was horrified at how weak I sounded.

Kay sneered, “Oh, thy precious Gideon. There’s the saint we’ll all be aspiring to from down in our dog-pits.”

“ _You asked_ ,” I hissed. “You asked about Murtagh and I told you. We fucked. I was a whore and he fucked me and I let him fuck me for the money.” Kay didn’t answer. I flung myself out of the chair and strode away. I only stopped at the door to shoot back, “Gideon _wasn’t_ a saint, but at least I wasn’t in love with such a _good friend_ and _great leader_ that he would have had me killed for it. At least when _I_ was whoring myself, I got paid.”

I slammed the door, and hoped that the next time Kay was willing to talk to me, he wouldn’t remember the lies that Malkar had long ago made of both my declarations.

I walked back to the lighthouse via the gardens, hoping the fresh salt air would clear my head. Mildmay met me coming up from the beach. When he saw my face he raised his eyebrows. The air had not helped.

“Whaddya do?” he asked. I couldn’t even snap at him.

I said tiredly, “I told Kay I slept with his brother-in-law in Bernatha. And that Gerrard Hume was a bigot.” And so many other things. Mildmay’s eyes grew wider.

“You kidding?” he asked.

“No,” I said miserably. Mildmay ambled over to me, because he couldn’t go any faster, and stationed himself by my side. Always the good eye.

“That was stupid of you,” he said. Not judging. Just observing.

I said unhappily, “I know.”

Mildmay said, “Did he _ask_ about Murtagh?”

“Yes,” I said. “Sort of.”

“And he’s still mad at you?”

“Yes.”

Mildmay snorted. “Then he’s stupid too.”

Mildmay at least wasn’t angry at me, and he didn’t seem to think I’d done something horrible to Kay. That made me feel a little bit better.

  
_Kay_   


No sooner than he left but I found myself pacing the room exactly like the dog Felix had called me. I lost track of myself—Julian spoke before I heard him. I jumped at his voice.

“Uncle is right; you’ll wear holes in the stone,” he said as I collected myself.

“Julian,” I said gruffly. “Would take it kindly an thou walked a little less softly.”

“Sorry, Kay,” Julian said. Unrepentant whelp. The country air was getting to the boy. In truth, was an improvement, but at the moment I had little appreciation for it.

“My uncle sent word,” Julian continued. “He’ll be here tomorrow after all. And you’ve got a meeting with the artisans’ union in an hour. About the new shipping provisions?”

“Ah,” I said. “Thank thee, Julian.”

I could hear him hesitate.

“Can I—do anything else?” he asked.

“I need nothing,” I told him.

“Are you,” he continued timidly. “Excuse me, Kay, but I wondered, are you angry at Virtuer Harrowgate?”

“An I am?” I shot back in irritation.

“Oh! Nothing!” Julian said. “Only I don’t—I mean, I hope everything’s all right.”

“Why shouldn’t it be?”

“Well, only I know he was with you this morning, and no other messages came today, and—but I saw him walking back to the tower just now, and he—looked _upset_.” He said it in a confidential whisper, as though he’d never imagined Felix could _be_ upset. The boy wasn’t stupid, but he keep a firm hold on his naïveté, I thought, almost jealously. I had lost mine early.

Or, I amended, flushing, thinking of Murtagh’s large, rough hands on Felix’s skin, perhaps I was as naïve as Julian, in my own dogged way.

“We annoyed each other, no more,” I said finally. He grunted dubiously.

“ _Julian_ ,” I growled. “An I say let be, _let be_. Have any more news for me or not?”

He hadn’t. He made his excuses and fled.

I groaned, and pressed my fingers against my forehead. I was sometimes such a brute.

I thought about Felix.

Alone, I could admit that Bernatha was part of it. Did not want anything from that place, no memory, no new edge to cut myself on. Did not want to remember the self-pity and despair and humiliation. Did not want to remember Gerrard’s catafalque and his cold dead body. Did not want to remember Murtagh’s brisk mercy, either, or to imagine that as I lay in the hotel bed he had paid for, he was happily spending his lust into the man who was now my lover.

Murtagh, I suddenly realized, had _seen_ the man who was my lover. He had seen Felix’s face. His eyes. His wizard’s tattoos.

I could never have that.

Murtagh had had that, while I paced myself to exhaustion in the first room I had memorized by touch.

Is that why thou art so angry? I asked myself scornfully. Because art jealous?

But I had brought it up. Had heard Felix hesitate when he mentioned Bernatha, and had pushed him, and curse me for it—for an I had demons lingering in that city, so had he. He had been exiled, heartsick, haunted and frightened, and his brother too ill for anything but a slow death. Had been hurt there, too, and I had heard it happen. Everyone had heard it, in the heartbeat of that monstrous clock.

I had met him in Bernatha. He had grieved for Gideon, and feared for Mildmay, and those repulsive, eager monsters had fed him alive to that terrible machine—somewhere in the space of those days, had knelt before me at Gerrard’s feet, and hadst asked what he could do. What he could do for _me_.

I cursed to myself, and groped for my walking stick.

  
_Mildmay_   


Kay came along about ten minutes behind Felix. I heard his cane tapping against the tile that ran down the whole length of the corridor-bridge that hooked up the lighthouse to the manor proper. I made sure to open the door before he could knock, so’s not to let on to Felix that Kay was here, unless it seemed like Kay was gonna patch things up.

“Hey, Kay,” I said when I opened the door in front of his surprised face. I kept my voice down.

“Mildmay.” Kay answered back just as quiet. He ain’t stupid, whatever I said to Felix, and when he wants he can be pretty fucking tactful as well. “Canst tell me an Mr. Harrowgate—is Felix at home?”

“Dunno,” I said guardedly. “You just gonna work him up again?”

“Hadst not _intended_ ,” Kay started, coloring, but he checked himself. “An he’ll see me, would like to apologize for my—” He shook his head, like a lion out of the stories shaking its mane. “Have been a beast. An he’ll not see me, please canst tell him he was right?” He swallowed. “About all things.”

“Yeah,” I said, although personally I thought ever telling Felix he was right about a whole big fight was about the stupidest fucking thing you could do. “Sure I can. You just wait a minute, okay? C’mon with me and there’s a parlor over here.” Kay put his hand out automatically, and I put out my arm so he could grab it. When he was all settled in the parlor, I said, “I’ll see about Felix.” Kay nodded, in that weird way where he didn’t have to see a gesture to do it still. It was a little spooky. It reminded you he hadn’t been born blind.

I limped off to the second floor, to the bit of the library Felix was working on this week. He’d got himself half-buried in about as many books as he could be without suffocating underneath ‘em all.

“Hey,” I said. Felix looked up with this catty kinda face, like he was in the middle of a good meal and some grubby little kid was walking up to yank on his fur.

“Yeah, I know,” I told him. “Kay’s here.” The catty look got worse. “He wants to apologize for whatever you’re pissed off about.”

Felix raised his eyebrow. “Is that what he told you?”

“Nope,” I said. “Says he’s sorry and you were right about everything.”

“Everything?” Felix got his smudged-chalk look and turned around a little to see me better.

“That’s what he said.” I shrugged.

“Oh, dear,” he grumbled, and then he started clawing his way out of the book fort he’d built himself into.

“You’re gonna see him, then?” I asked.

“ _Yes_ ,” Felix snapped, almost tripping. I stuck out my free hand, but he caught himself on the table and stood up without any help.

“I put him in the parlor,” I said. “Anyway. Don’t piss him off worse.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Felix said, still catty as fuck, and stalked off down the hall. I kept myself safe right where I was, nice and happily abandoned with Felix’s fort of books.

  
_Felix_   


I could see from Kay’s face that he recognized my footfalls. His expression fell somewhere between anger, anxiety and hope, and struck me with the same guilt that I still sometimes felt talking to Mildmay.

I stopped a few feet from Kay and licked my lips.

“Kay,” I greeted him, as lightly as I could, but his expression drooped.

Before I knew what to apologize for, he muttered, “Curse me for a wet-eared whelp.” He cast himself at me, clapping his hand heavily on my shoulder. His aim was good.

“Forgive me, Felix, an thou can. I rue my words already.”

“It isn’t precisely the words that are the problem,” I said. I didn’t know why it mattered to stand my ground. I would have preferred to accept his apology and duck out from under the weight of his arm. I hadn’t even worked out, exactly, what the problem was. But I couldn’t help it, and I didn’t move.

Kay’s arm dropped, and I breathed in relief.

“Am—am foolish,” he said awkwardly. “But, canst believe I hold no part of thy past against thee?”

I felt a fresh twist of anger. “Is _that_ what you think my problem is? You think I need one of your priests to give me penance for my transgressions? Tell me,” I asked bitterly, “which episodes of my life have you absolved me of? Murders? Enslaving my brother? Meeting everyone I’ve ever met with cruelty? Or do you simply object because I have on occasion been paid to have sex with strange men?”

Kay was quiet. He sniffed once, and I hung there on the echo of my words. I’d called him a dog—I shouldn’t have—but the animal snarling on the end of his chain was me. It was always me.

“Lady’s sake, Felix,” Kay said painfully when he did speak. “Thou knowst what I meant. If thou’d but—”

“ _What?_ ” I hissed.

Kay didn’t rise to my bait, though the color was high in his cheeks.

“I mean to say,” he answered slowly, “am not angry for any reason that’s thy doing. Am not interested in shaming thee, nor even in comparing monstrosities.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“What _are_ you angry about, then?” I asked nastily.

“Have kept up a habit of secrecy,” he explained, shrugging. “Was, as thou said, necessary to stay close to—Gerrard.” He ducked his head. “Would it weren’t so, but is.” He lifted his face towards me, not staring at anything. “Strange, is all, to find thou hast been hiding from someone with the same secret thou guarded thyself with so much—pain.”

“Oh,” I said, rage abating. “Murtagh.”

“Murtagh,” Kay agreed. He added, “And, though it has no bearing on my grasp of reality, am also—jealous?”

“Jealous?” I repeated dumbly.

“Art barely mine as is,” he mumbled, and then shot me a brief, self-effacing half-smile. “Am married, and thou and I have made no word for—what we are. Canst surprise you I am jealous to hear my competition is so near?”

“Murtagh doesn’t compete,” I said shortly. The idea of _anyone_ competing for me was frankly ridiculous. “He’s not interested, and even if he were—”

“An he were,” Kay interrupted with quiet self-loathing, “thou’d have a whole man to make love to thee, as thee’d wish, and not only some scarred, blind, bitter, timid ruin.”

“Oh,” I said again, stupidly. “But, I don’t _want_ —”

I did, a little. Murtagh had been kind and capable, and he had only forced me into what I wanted anyway.

“I had thought we were clear on this,” I said finally. Kay tilted his head. “We’re both scarred, blind, bitter, timid ruins,” I answered. “I don’t think I could stand someone who wasn’t, and I.” I stumbled. “I like you. I’m not—you _don’t_ disappoint me.”

Kay said quietly, “Has seen thy face.”

“What?” I said, bewildered.

“Murtagh,” Kay repeated slowly. “Has made love to thee, and he has _seen thy face_.”

We were both silent, stunned, I think, because neither of us was good enough at honesty to take it in stride. Not yet.

Eventually I shuffled closer to him. I put out my hand to touch his, wrapped my warped fingers around his calloused ones.

I sighed.

“A great number of people have seen a—great deal of me,” I acknowledged, so casual and bright I could feel the cracks. “But that isn’t—” I fought for words, and then gave up on the roundabout altogether. I touched my hand to Kay’s cheek for a second before burying my hand back in the fabric of my coat.

“No one sees _me_ ,” I said. “There’s Mildmay. There was Gideon. And there’s you.” Kay’s hand tightened around mine.

“That’s it,” I said. I resisted the urge to pull away, to put a safe distance back between us. “So pardon me if I worry when you appear to take offense at my whoring ways.”

“Am not,” he started harshly, and bowed his head. “Am not so prudish as thou thinkst, Felix. Am only—greedy.” He wrapped his free hand around both of ours where they clasped. “Am married, yet am frightened of sharing thee with anyone,” he admitted. “Even ghosts.”

He could hear the small noise I made then, even if he couldn’t see the expression on my face.

“Felix?” he asked worriedly.

“You’re not,” I said, so quietly that Kay didn’t hear me and I had to try again. “You’re not sharing me,” I said again. “Gideon wasn’t—Gideon wouldn’t mind.” I didn’t even bother to say what I thought was so obvious, that no one else had mattered like that. Only Gideon. And Kay.

“I don’t,” Kay started.

“He’s dead,” I said abruptly, and then had to swallow tears, because it never stopped hurting to remember it was true. “He saved my life, and he—l-loved me, and I brought him nothing but misery and death.”

“Felix,” Kay started.

“No,” I said. “I mean—I _mean_ —he would have been so angry if I didn’t try.”

Kay thought this through. He said, “An Murtagh finds out tomorrow that I am sleeping with thee, I would still have thee in my bed tomorrow night.”

I said bravely, “Quite right.”

He chuckled. “We’re not monsters, are we?” he said ruefully. “Only bad clockwork.”

“We mend,” I said, “hopefully.”

“Ah. I shall try first,” Kay answered.

“All right,” I whispered back.

He leaned in to kiss me, his hand cupped against my face. He wasn’t angry. I didn’t feel ashamed.


End file.
